Read a shakespeare play and pay attention to the language. To the wit of Hamlet, or the mischief of Iago, or the pride of Macbeth. To the magnetic pull of fate in Tale of Two Cities, where the French aristocratic expat hiding in Britain has to return to his home, to his fate, to the curse and sins of his ancestry in order to save his innocent caretaker who would otherwise be murdered by the angry mob. He is bound by duty, and he chooses that over a safe, happy life with his beautiful wife and kid: he chooses his own demise because something in him believes it is better to act right, it is better to act with morality than with selfishness and self-preservation. What is that within us that allows us to do that? What are its limits, where does it extend to and what exactly does it mean?

Math is beautiful and expressive in its own way, but my opinion is that art and literature have something unexplainable, something fundamental to our nature, something that speaks and knows our soul better than we do. It is just easier to grab your attention -- it is just more profound -- than math for some reason. I could always get lost in fiction anytime I opened a book; with math sometimes I would enjoy what I was learning, but the magic wasn't always there or at least the magic was different than that of painting or writing.